A boy in the woods
by Angleterre97
Summary: While exploring the vast forest on his parent's new sprawling estate Francis comes across the most interesting of things. Rating may change for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1: I'm Francis

Francis lifted his head to face the sun that streamed through the leaves and branches of the trees around him. He had turned 16 two days before, and had moved to this area 4 days before that. His family had bought a mansion on a sprawling estate in England because they had wanted to 'switch it up for a bit.' Personally, Francis wasn't impressed. But seeing as he didn't get much say on the issue he decided to have a look around. It was summer, so it wasn't raining as it usually did here, so for that at least he was grateful. Suddenly the french boy was pulled from his thoughts by a whooshing sound and then a squawk over head. Seconds later his world went black.

Francis groaned as he sat up. He looked around and found that he was in the woods. Then the moment before came back to him. He rubbed his head where whatever had fallen had hit him. He looked around and saw what he assumed was said item...sort of. He leaned over and stared at the medium sized bird laying on the ground a few feet away from him with an arrow sticking out of it.

"Mon Dieu..." His head snapped up as he heard a rustling in the bushes behind him. He craned his neck around and stared down the shaft of an arrow very similar to the one sticking out of the bird.

"Don't move. Don't touch." Francis stared past the shaft at the boy wielding the bow. He was a bit younger and shorter than himself and had choppy blonde hair that was messily cut. Unruly eyebrows sat atop forest-green eyes that were nearly the same color as the cloak he wore. Francis slowly put his hands up and the boy cautiously moved around him to his catch. He leaned down over the fowl and pulled out the arrow and then picked it up, slinging it and the bow over his shoulder. Not once letting his gaze leave the taller boy. He walked backwards toward the bushes like he was about to depart when that same gaze seemed to linger on the french boy just a little longer than he had intended. Francis decided to take a chance. "Ahem...um I'm..." The cloaked boy flinched and reached for what appeared to be a knife hidden inside its fold. Francis put his hands up again to show he meant no harm. "I'm Francis." He finally breathed out. The boy stared at him for a few moments with a look of combined annoyance, astonishment, and skepticism before he spoke again. "You keep out of here then...Francis." And with that he dashed away into the forest.

"Wow, you were out there quite a while cher." Francis' mother said as he came into the kitchen through one of the back doors of their house. "Find anything interesting?" Francis stared at his mother and contemplated telling her about the wild boy he had encountered. "No, not really, just lots of trees." He loved his mother and hated to lie to her, but she probably wouldn't have believed him anyways. Well...that wasn't the only reason he didn't tell her. He made his way up to his room and pulled out his sketch pad and began sketching. Soon a likeness of the shorter boy began to appear on the paper. Francis hadn't thought he would ever find something to occupy his time when he moved to this miserable place, but never did he imagine anything like the afternoon he had just concluded. He had made up his mind then, as his sketch became more detailed with what he could recall, that he would try to find the mysterious boy again the next day.


	2. Chapter 2: Arthur

"Where to go now..?" Francis mumbled to himself. He had returned to the spot he had been hit in the head the day before and now tried to decide which way he would go in hopes of finding the mysterious boy. He looked around and settled on the general direction he had run off into before. As he made his way through the thickets and bushes, the bag slung on his back and is long hair snagging every so often, he found himself coming up on a good sized stream. As he got closer his heart race sped up a bit. Sitting on the bank on the far side was the boy. He had a bird, the same one from yesterday or not he wasn't sure, and was plucking the feathers out of it. Periodically Francis would see him mumble something, not audible over the water, or would see him nod his head as if engaged in a conversation with someone that clearly wasn't there. 'Odd.' He thought. 'But then again, its not like he has anyone else to talk to then himself out here.' Then, once all the feathers had been plucked and sorted (Down feathers separate from the rest) and the body cleaned the boy stood and stretched. He looked around lazily and didn't seem to notice the french boy behind the trees. He held the bird in one hand and most of the feathers in the other. He scowled down at the down feathers. Now that he was standing Francis could hear him more clearly. "I'll come back for these later." And with that departed into the woods.

Francis watch the other disappear into the leaves and waited a few moments before he crept out himself. He quickly took a running leap and landed on the other side of the stream. He looked down at the feathers that had been left. 'Maybe if I try to help him he wont point those arrows at me.' He thought as he set his bag down only to withdraw a smaller draw bag and and began filling it with the feathers. 'Worth a shot.'

Francis stirred a bit, he had laid down in the grass while he waited for the bushy-browed boy to return. 'I must have dozed off.' He concluded as he slowly opened his eyes. In that moment sky-blue met forest-green with a start as the wild boy Francis had been waiting for scooted back with surprise. The french boy slowly sat up and looked to the other boy who held his knife out in defense. "Bonjour."

The boy stared at him with a cross look. Had he never heard his language before?

"What are you doing here?" He demanded, gripping his blade.

"Well I could ask you the same question." Francis said as he rubbed the sleepiness from his eyes.

"I told you to stay out of here, you stupid frog!" 'Frog?' he thought. 'Where did that come from?'

"Are you looking for these, cher?" He held up the small bag that he had been using as a pillow. "I think you left them." He opened the bag to show the boy its contents. His eyes widened and he extended his had only to retract it back and shot him a menacing scowl. "Non non, its alright, they're yours." He could sense his apprehension, so he lightly tossed the bag to him which he caught. "I thought a bag would make them easier to carry." The boy eyed him with a suspicious look, but sheathed his knife nonetheless.

"I told you to stay out of here french man-"

"Francis." he interjected.

"...Francis." He paused for a moment and looked between him and the bag. "But this could be useful."

Francis considered this the closes thing he would get to a 'Thank you' for now. The boy gave him a glare but then a stiff nod before turning to go.

"Wait!" Francis called after him. "Don't _I_ get to know _your_ name?" He turned to face the french boy, a contorted look gracing his face, as if it pained him to give that kind of information away. He looked Francis over with his pleading blue eyes, then back to the bag. "Arthur." He said quickly before escaping into the foliage yet again.


	3. Chapter 3: Shivers

"Arthur..." He mumbled to himself as he made his way back towards his home. 'What an incredibly British name he thought to himself as his house came into view. When he had made it in he said hello to his mom but the quickly stole away up to his room. He pulled out the sketch he had drawn the day before and in a black space near the bottom he scrawled the name Arthur. He then flipped to the next page and began another sketch, an image that had stuck with him the entire day. The moment he had opened his eyes to be staring into the face of the other. It was electrifying and breathtaking even as he thought back to it now and he wasn't sure why. He had almost completed to work when his mother had entered his room. "Francis," She started. "You're father and I have to go away on-"

"A business trip." he finished for her. He had heard it enough times before.

"Um, yes. But this will be your first time alone in the new house, so I just want to make sure you're ok with it." Francis had stayed by himself plenty of times before. "I'll be fine mom."

"Are you sure?"

"I promise." He said with a grin. His simile always made her feel better, he had found.

"Arthur are you ok?"

"Stay away from me frog!"

Francis was in the woods the day after his parents left looking for the boy he now knew was Arthur, but when he found him he did not like what he found. He had finally managed to happen upon the place where the boy actually lived and slept. It was a grand, big tree with a good-sized cavern underneath one of the large roots. Outside it was a small fire pit with a make-shift cooking spit and a log for sitting. Sitting on that log when he arrived was a shaking, pale, miserable looking soaking-wet Arthur. "Please lapin, tell me what happened."

"I fell in the bloody water, isn't that obvious... and don't call me a rabbit."

'So he does know some french.' "Well what are you doing just sitting here? Take off those wet clothes and put some dry ones one before you catch a cold!" Arthur just stared at him blankly. Francis looked around a bit. "You don't have a change of clothes do you." He shook is head. "I've fallen in the water before, I'm fine." But not seconds later did a sneeze escape him. The poor boy looked horribly tired and cold. "Here," Francis said as he stood up and offered his hand. Arthur inched back and stared at it questioningly. The french boy sighed as he leaned down, took the others hand and pulled him up. He began dragging him along as the other started squirming. "What do you think you're doing?!" he screeched, but soon was taken over by an attack of shivers. "I'm taking you to my house. I can't let you stay out here like this.

Francis could feel Arthur's feet falter a bit at that. 'Poor kid,' he thought again.

When they arrived back at the Francis' house Arthur tried desperately to be released. "I won't go in there!" He howled. "What if someone sees me, they'll...they'll..."

"They won't do anything to you Arthur, my parents are gone, they won't be back for a week. God, just because you live in the woods does not mean you need to be so difficult, come on!" Finally he managed to calm the frantic boy down enough to get him inside and upstairs. Francis, for the first time, wondered what the other had gone through to end up in the woods with a fear of human contact. He figured now wasn't the right time to ask. "Put your clothes in that basket over there," He pointed to the bin by the bathroom door. "I'm going to run you a bath." When Francis turned around after starting the water and getting it to a decent temperature the other boy was standing there with the towel he had given him wrapped around his waist. He still was shivering, but Francis couldn't help admire his body. Living in the wild kept you fit, though it looks like he should be eating more...

"Ahem." He was pulled from his thoughts. "Oh right, Desole." He exited the bathroom to start on lunch.


	4. Chapter 4: Not everyone's out to hurt

Francis stood in the kitchen making a pot of soup. He leaned down to check the bread he had put in the oven. He had been deep in thought ever since he began cooking. He took note of what he knew and what he didn't know. He knew that he had a feral boy sitting in his bathtub upstairs, but he didn't know why. Why he felt so compelled to help him or why he was feral in the first place. He was so lost in his contemplation that he almost didn't notice Arthur come in. "Frog, these clothes are ridiculous." He turned from the stove. The younger boy wore a pair of jeans that Francis had that were to short for himself (They fit Arthur perfectly though) and an old gray long-sleeved sweater. Though Francis had never liked the sweater his mom had given him, he thought it looked very fitting on the other. His hair was still rather damp from the bath. "What are you talking about? You look wonderful!" The other only snorted. "My old clothes were just fine, can I have them back soon, and my cloak?" He looked positively irritated and a bit anxious. 'Figures,' Thought Francis as he took the bread out of the oven. 'He probably hasn't been in real clothes or a real home in ages.' He set the table for two and Arthur stood by watching, his arms wrapped around himself. "Still cold?"

"No."

"Hmmm..." Francis motioned for him to join him, placing two bowls of soup and bread onto the table. Arthur scowled. Francis sighed. "Are you not going to eat?" The boy slowly, cautiously approached the table and finally sat down. He eyed the food. He took a piece of bread and dipped it into his soup and took a small bite, then a bigger bite and soon the entire contents of the bowl were gone. Francis passed his own bowl to the boy who immediately dug into it. 'Just as I thought, not eating enough...'

After the meal he lead the boy to the living room. He sat down on the couch and motioned for him to sit with him. Arthur just stood there and stared. Francis saw his eyes momentarily dart towards the door. Francis smirked. "I don't think so cher, your clothes are still in the wash. Besides, you're staying here tonight." He wanted to keep the boy near him for a while, take care of him for some reason. The shorter blonde glared at the other. "What gives you that kind of authority?"

"Since when does a woodland hooligan care about authority?" Arthur quirked an eyebrow.

"Bloody hell, you really are a strange frog." Francis chuckled at this, stood up and walked over to the other boy, grabbing his hand. "Just quite being stubborn, would you? You didn't have to kill or cook your last meal, that was probably the first hot bath you've had in ages, or ever, and you're wearing clean, intact clothes. Can't you be a little nicer, happier?"

Arthur shot him a cold and icy glare as Francis led him to the couch and sat them both down.

"I didn't ask for any of that, any of this." He spat as he bit his bottom lip and looked at the floor. The scowl was still on his face but it was less...more sad and guarded then merely anger. Francis reached up and grabbed a blanket off the back of the couch He draped it over the boy and pulled him closer to himself, earning him a fist to the gut, which he grudgingly ignored. "What the hell?! Let go of me!" Arthur squirmed and threw punches and kicked his legs. "Please calm down Arthur," Francis said as he wrapped the blanket and his arms around the boy tighter. "Not everyone you run into is going to be mean or hurt you!" It was a shot in the dark on the French boy's part, but it seemed to strike a chord as Arthur froze in his arms. Green eyes turned to meet blue. "Frog...if you're lying I swear-"

"I'm not lying mon cher. Just stay here with me at least one night. The forest will still be there tomorrow." Arthur was tense as he held him. It felt like an hour but eventually the boy relaxed in his arms, seeing as he fell asleep. Francis stroked his hair. He was going to make this boy trust him. Suddenly his summer didn't seem so hopeless.


	5. Stubborn boy

Francis was again in the kitchen the next morning making breakfast when he had heard a resounding thud come from upstairs. Following the thud was a string of shouts and curses and he figured that his guest had awoken. Shutting off the stove he quickly dashed up the stairs, still in his night clothes. What he found upon entering his room greatly amused him. The night before the French boy had managed to get Arthur to fall asleep in his arms and he ever so gently carried him to his tall four poster bed. Seeing the feral boy thrashing around in a cocoon of sheets and blankets on the floor lead Francis to believe he rolled off of it.

"Arthur! Are you ok?" He moved forward to help the struggling boy. Arthur flashed him a look of confusion and...fear? 'Did he forget where he is?'

"Arthur? Cher, Stop kicking, it's just me, Francis." After a moment more of a confused stare his eyes widened and then settled into a glare as the long-haired boy pulled him out of the nest he had managed to create.

"Ugh! Get your hands off of me frog!"

'Well, he's back to normal.' Francis thought.

"Just helping. Come down and eat with me."

/OOO/

"Arthur?" Francis called as he came down the stairs. He had gone to take a shower after they had finished eating. Not receiving an answer he called again. And again. Still nothing. The French boy began to worry. 'What if he hurt himself or something like that?!' He searched the entire house up and down and was beginning to grow frantic when he reached the laundry room.

"His clothes..." He murmured to himself. They were gone. 'Dammit'

He had left as soon as he had had the opportunity. 'Why?' Francis asked himself. 'I took care of him, what person doesn't want to be pampered a little?' Apparently feral boys.

Letting his mind settle for a moment he packed a sack of food and an old throw blanket before he exited his home. 'You can't get rid of me that easily, Arthur.'

It was a fairly hot day and he was happy for the shade of the trees as he trudged through the woods. As he made his way through he began to think to himself. What would he accomplish if he found the boy? Talk some sense into him? Bring him home to keep? That last thought had popped into his head once or twice before, like when he had placed Arthur in his bed and quietly sketched him there, capturing the sight. Was he crazy for trying to civilize Arthur? After all his parents would return in a few day anyways.

As his mind swirled around inside his head he made it to Arthur's clearing only to find him not there.

'Well, I'll just wait then, no point in going off and getting lost.' He placed his bag on the log by the fire pit and went into the cavern of the tree to escape the sun beams that freely streamed into the grassy little circle. As he settled against the far wall and looked about he noticed in a corner something awfully familiar. 'That book is from my house!' He reached out and picked up the worn volume of

Lord of the Flies and flipped it open to the first page.

He had made it almost half way through when a shadow suddenly blocked his view and he looked up. "Arthur!"

"Get out you stupid frog, go back to your own home."

"Why did you leave?" He asked, ignoring the others demand.

"You said one night, that was one night." Francis sighed.

"You could have stayed longer," He looked the fish the shorter boy held. "I could have cooked for you."

"I don't need to be taken care of." He said matter-of-factly as he skewered his catch and began making a fire which he did surprisingly very fast. Francis crawled out from under the tree and began to unload his bag. He placed a few slices of bread, a jar of jam, and a box of crackers on the log.

"For you." He stated as Arthur glanced at it and scoffed.

"Got my own." But reached out for a slice of the bread anyways. 'He's warming up to me.' The French boy thought to himself. 'If only just a little.'

"So," He began after the boys fish was cooked and he was just beginning to eat. He had offered Francis some and he happily accepted it. 'Warming up to me!'

"You didn't tell me you could read." Arthur instantly tensed.

"You never asked." Stubborn brat.

"Well, since you took that book," He motioned to the tree cavern. "You obviously know I have a library full of them." 'So he did look around the house before he left'

"You're welcome to them whenever you would like to come back." The choppy haired blonde was staring at him with skeptical eyes. Francis only smiled, he had spent practically the whole afternoon with his feral boy, and it was beginning to grow late.

"I brought you this." He said as he reached for his bag and pulled out the blanket.

"Arthur looked at him, then back at his own bed area. "I don't need it."

The French boy furrowed his eyebrows. 'Why so damn stubborn?'

He simply paced over and placed it inside the tree. "You're right, you wouldn't need it, if you came back home with me." And he extended his hand. The boy only glared at it and Francis sighed, it was worth a shot. "Well then bonsoir Arthur. If you need me you know where to find me." And, without really thinking about it, leaned down and kissed the top of his mop of hair earning a punch that he dodged. As he made his way through the trees he turned back just in time to see the boy snuggle into his new blanket.


End file.
